This was personal, and I wanted to see Rory behind bars or in the ground. Either one was acceptable to me. And I wanted to be there when it happened. Though at the moment, he was probably well out of our jurisdiction.
The sheriff’s radio crackled with a call from the Coast Guard. An MH60T Jayhawk had spotted the Echelon heading toward the Bahamas. Rory was making a run for it.
Daniels knew I wasn’t about to sit this one out.
Dietrich snapped photos, and the forensic team evaluated the scene. Brenda examined the remains. There was plenty of work to do. The scene wouldn't be wrapped for a while.
Paige and I boarded the Raptor and followed the sheriff out to sea. We headed east, carving through the inky swells, outboards howling, mists of saltwater spraying. The sheriff had been in contact with Lieutenant Coleman. As far as he was concerned, we were observers in the operation, and once in custody, thesuspects would be handed over to the care of the sheriff's department.
Wind swirled, and the briny air filled my nostrils as we headed out into the abyss.
"I'm sorry about your friend," Paige said.
"Jack's going to be okay,” I said, willing it into being. “The guy’s tough as nails.”
"I feel terrible. This is all my fault. I don't know what I was thinking.”
"You got greedy.”
She frowned. "Let's hope I didn't get Tonya killed.”
50
"Heave to and prepare to be boarded," a petty officer shouted through a megaphone.
With a top speed of 24 knots, the Echelon wasn't going to outrun the armada of Defender-class patrol boats and the circling helicopter. The captain had a choice to make. Slow the boat and lose his job, or keep going and face arrest. Either way, he'd be out of a job eventually.
The superyacht sliced through the swells, the RHIB boat the assault squad had used in tow.
The pursuit lasted a few minutes until the captain came to his senses and killed the engines. The massive craft drifted in the water, and petty officers boarded at the stern. They flooded up the molded-in staircase with M4s shouldered.
We joined the party and boarded. Again, I told Paige to stay on the Raptor for her safety, but she had a mind of her own.
The sheriff and I climbed the steps to the aft deck and joined the petty officers. The squad broke off, and two petty officers tookeach side deck and worked their way forward. We entered the salon with the others and filed in, weapons shouldered.
Daniels had alerted the Coast Guard to the fact that Rory had a potential hostage. I just hoped things didn't get out of hand.
The ship had a modern minimalist design. High ceilings and luxurious furniture. Large window walls offered copious amounts of light during the day and stunning vistas.
We cleared the salon and advanced down a forward passage. At the central floating staircase, the sheriff and I spiraled up the steps to another salon on the bridge deck. That's where we ran into the two thugs who had escaped Silas’s boat.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out this was a losing situation for them as we flooded into the compartments, our weapons shouldered.
They put their weapons on the deck and raised their hands in surrender.
"Face down! On the deck, now!" a petty officer shouted, keeping his rifle aimed at the scumbags.
They complied.
A third man with them set his pistol on the ground and assumed the position. He wore a weathered black baseball cap. The same baseball cap as the bunny shooter at the mall. I recognized him as one of Rory’s security guards. We had met at his office.
"Where's your boss?" I shouted.
"In his stateroom," one of the thugs said.
The stateroom was located aft of the bridge-deck salon. It was a spacious compartment with its own private balcony.
The sheriff and I huddled at the hatch with the other petty officers. One of them banged on the door and shouted. "United States Coast Guard. Open up!”
